


(Wherever I Go) You Bring Me Home

by elf_on_the_shelf, elletopaz



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), and most of your knowledge of romance comes from books, he attempts chill but it does not last very long, in his defense it can be very difficult to figure out appropriate pacing, not gonna lie that's most of what this is, very little chill from Aziraphale, when you've been waiting 6000 years to finally be with someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletopaz/pseuds/elletopaz
Summary: After finally confessing their love for one another, Aziraphale finally gets to care for Crowley the way he's always wanted to, and Crowley learns how to allow oneself to be taken care of.Eventually, that is. After 6000 years, one can't exactly blame them for needing some time to figure it all out.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	(Wherever I Go) You Bring Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Do It With Style Reverse Bang, with absolutely gorgeous art by [elf_on_the_shelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf)!

For the entirety of their dinner at the Ritz, Aziraphale found he was unable to stop himself from gazing unreservedly at Crowley. For the first time in his life, he felt he was free to do so. There was no telling what the future would bring, but for now, they were safe. Crowley, for his part, appeared more relaxed than Aziraphale had seen him in the past eleven years— perhaps even longer. He was gorgeous like this— head tilted back as he laughed out loud, exposing the long line of his neck. Aziraphale wanted to kiss a line down his throat, bite it, suck bruises into it. The boldness of the thought surprised him— but they were allowed now, weren’t they?

It wasn’t that Aziraphale had never had such thoughts about Crowley (on the contrary, they had a tendency to pop into his head quite frequently), but they’d always come tinged with some amount of guilt. Not the guilt of someone who was doing something wrong and consequently felt bad about it, mind you. Rather, it was the kind of guilt that only occurs when an individual knows they should feel guilty about something and yet simply doesn’t— and then proceeds to feel guilty about their lack of guilt. What Aziraphale felt for Crowley— affection, attraction, love, lust— none of it was allowed. And he should’ve felt guilty about it... but it never quite took.

Of course, that was before. Before they stopped armageddon. Before they chose to be on their own side, chose the world, and chose each other. Now, the desire, the love that Aziraphale felt for the demon sitting across from him came entirely unbidden, unburdened by concerns about feelings he shouldn’t have had, and guilt he couldn’t truly bring himself to feel. They were free to do as they wished— and what Aziraphale wished was to finally love Crowley— out loud, on purpose.

He certainly wasn’t expecting Crowley to beat him to it. Emboldened by newfound confidence, Aziraphale reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Crowley’s. Crowley started, yellow eyes widening behind dark glasses. He looked down at their hands, then back up at Aziraphale, then—

“I love you.”

It was very nearly a whisper, but Aziraphale heard it loud and clear. His breath caught in his throat. He had known, of course he had known— but it was one thing to know and quite another to hear it said out loud.

“Dearest.” Aziraphale curled his hand around Crowley’s, squeezing it gently. “I love you, too.”

“Angel—” Crowley’s voice was hoarse. He sounded almost surprised. “You mean you really—”

“Oh— oh Crowley. You didn’t know.” Aziraphale’s heart ached. He knew he had been… reserved, in the past, but he hadn’t had much of a choice. They would have been punished, horribly punished, and they would’ve never seen each other again— and losing Crowley had never been an option. He had done what he had to do— they both had, and Aziraphale knew that Crowley understood. Still, six thousand years without a word— without knowing for certain… it had to have hurt. He almost wished they weren’t still at the Ritz, so that he could gather Crowley in his arms, hold him, and prove to him that he had always, always been loved.

Crowley turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together.

“I thought— maybe. I hoped— oh, angel, did I hope. But I couldn’t— I didn’t— I couldn’t let myself—” Crowley's grip on his hand grew tighter.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” Aziraphale could feel tears welling up in his eyes. With his other hand, he reached across to Crowley’s face, gently cupping his jaw and stroking his cheek with his thumb. “I only wish that I had—”

“Angel, it’s not your fault. There was nothing you could’ve done— it wasn’t safe.”

“Until now.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t safe— until now. There was nothing I could’ve done— until now.” Aziraphale shifted, moving his chair closer to Crowley’s. “Darling, I fear we’ve already put this off for far too long, and I don’t wish to wait any longer. May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Aziraphale leaned forward and Crowley met him in the middle, finally pressing their lips together. Crowley’s lips were soft, and he kissed him cautiously, as though he feared he had misinterpreted Aziraphale’s words. Aziraphale responded by kissing back fiercely, sliding the hand on Crowley’s face to the back of his head, running his fingers through the soft hair on the nape of his neck as he pulled him closer.

This, here, this was everything. Crowley’s lips moving against his, so gentle and yet so full of need. The small noises he was making into Aziraphale’s mouth, little whimpers of joyful desperation. His hands, so cautious but so loving as they stroked up his arms, curling around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

He had always been able to feel Crowley’s love, and knowing that it matched his own had made it all the more difficult to refrain from acting on it. For so long he had tried to ignore it, to push it away— anything to make it hurt a little less. In this moment, however, Crowley’s love surrounded him, and he allowed himself to surrender to it completely, sinking into the feeling of being wanted, of being known, of being loved. Now that he knew what it was to hold Crowley, to kiss him, to love him, openly— he knew he’d never want to stop.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to, as Crowley was the one who finally pulled away. His lips were parted and kiss swollen, and he looked awestruck— like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“We’re causing a scene, sweetheart,” Crowley murmured. Even from behind the lenses of his glasses, it was obvious that he was unable to take his eyes off Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale glanced around the restaurant. Most hadn’t noticed them, but a few nearby patrons were staring, looking somewhat appalled.

“Well then,” he said, smiling coyly at Crowley, “why don’t we get out of here? ‘Get a room,’ as I’m sure many of these lovely people wish we would?”

Crowley snapped his fingers, an excessive amount of cash appearing on the table as he did so. He stood, pulling Aziraphale with him, and before he knew it they were out the door and headed for the Bentley.

“Impatient, are we?” Aziraphale chuckled, letting himself be pulled along.

“You have no idea, do you?” Crowley opened the passenger side door of the Bentley for Aziraphale, letting go of his hand so they could both get in the car. “You have no idea what you do to me, angel.”

Aziraphale flushed as he sat down, glancing over at Crowley in the driver’s seat. His eyes flickered down to where Crowley’s already tight jeans had grown noticeably tighter.

“I think I might have some idea, darling.”

* * *

Miraculously, both Crowley and Aziraphale were able to maintain their composure for the entire drive back to the bookshop, the short walk into the shop, and right up until Aziraphale closed and locked the door. He turned to face Crowley with a playful smile, intending to suggest that they relocate to his bedroom, but before he had the opportunity, Crowley was on him— pushing him up against the door and kissing him fiercely. Just like at the convent, he thought wildly— although this was so much better. The same shock of sudden closeness, but this time the tension that bubbled up between them didn’t need to be restrained. Instead, it was released in a messy clash of lips and tongues, and breathless, gasping moans.

“Oh, love,” Aziraphale groaned between kisses.

“Six thousand years, angel,” Crowley growled, stopping for a moment to tear his glasses off his face and fling them across the room. “Six thousand years I’ve loved you, wanted you—”

“You have me, darling.” Aziraphale’s fingers tangled in Crowley’s hair. “You have me, you’ll always have me, forever, I swear it.”

Crowley’s hands gripped his hips tight, and he began to suck a bruise into Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale bit back a moan, head hitting the door as he tilted it back, allowing Crowley better access.

“Should we— bedroom?” he managed.

Crowley paused his ministrations long enough to shake his head and say, “Too far.”

“Sofa, then,” Aziraphale said breathlessly. “Darling, please…”

Crowley nipped at his neck one last time, before finally tearing himself away, taking Aziraphale’s hand and pulling them both, stumbling, towards the back room. Aziraphale felt his legs hit the back of the couch, and he collapsed onto it, pulling Crowley on top of him as their lips met once again.

This kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues, and Aziraphale felt the desperate desire of six thousand years swell in his chest. Crowley was in his lap, grinding down on him, moaning into his mouth, winding his arms around him like he was determined to fuse their bodies together permanently. Aziraphale had never been so turned on. Their hips rocked together, reminding them both how obviously, painfully hard they were.

“Ah, Crowley, love,” Aziraphale whimpered.

“I’ve got you, angel, I’ve got you.” Crowley’s hands came up to cup his face, shockingly tender even as his erection pressed into Aziraphale’s thigh. He kissed him once more, deep and filthy, before pulling away and sliding off Aziraphale’s lap, down to the floor.

“Wha—” Aziraphale was about to protest the sudden lack of Crowley, but the demon’s hands were at his belt buckle, and he was looking up at him with wide eyes.

“This alright, love?” Crowley asked, already sounding wrecked.

On the rare occasions when Aziraphale had allowed himself to think about this moment—their first time together— it had always been… well. He’d lay Crowley down on soft white sheets, marveling at the sunlight catching in his red hair, making it shine. Crowley would smile at him, that secret, soft smile that only Aziraphale ever saw. He would kiss him tenderly, their noses brushing together, and they would make love slowly, wrapped up in each other for hours. Sometimes there were rose petals. Aziraphale was certain that someday, they would do all of that and more. But here, now? He couldn’t help but wonder why he had never pictured this. The reality of Crowley— on his knees in the dim light of the bookshop’s back room, looking up at him so earnestly, bright golden eyes so full of love and lust— it was intoxicating.

“Yes, darling, yes,” he breathed.

Permission granted, Crowley made quick work of Aziraphale’s belt, but paused when he reached his fly.

“Angel… are these buttons?” Crowley’s eyes were still hungry, still full of desire, but the corner of his mouth was twitching upwards, the beginnings of a teasing smirk.

“Oh, you…” Aziraphale was so flustered at the prospect of what they were about to do that it took him a second to realise that Crowley was making fun of him. He huffed an exasperated breath, lightly swatting Crowley on the arm. “It was the style, you fiend!”

“In, what, the eighteen hundreds?” Crowley laughed, leaning forward and resting his arms on Aziraphale’s knees. Still smirking, one of his hands travelled upwards and began to gently caress the bulge in his trousers. Aziraphale whined, the feather-light touches both overwhelming and not nearly enough. “Angel, you’re in serious need of a wardrobe update.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale said lightly, finding himself once again quite breathless, “I suppose you’d better start by getting me out of these old clothes, yes?”

“Suppose I must,” Crowley said in a low voice. One by one, he began flicking open the buttons of Aziraphale’s fly. “Wanna suck you off, angel. Can I?”

“Good lord.” Aziraphale’s head fell back against the sofa, thighs spreading to make room for Crowley.

“Should I take that as a yes?” Crowley smirked up at him, stroking him through his boxers.

Aziraphale could only nod frantically in response, words having left him entirely. In a matter of moments, Crowley had removed his cock from his underwear, stroking him once, twice— and then suddenly Crowley’s mouth was on him, hot and wet, swallowing him to the hilt without preamble.

“Oh— oh fuck— oh god, Crowley, please,” Aziraphale moaned, fighting the urge to thrust up into Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley pulled off briefly with a wicked grin. “Swearing and blasphemy, angel? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Wiley serpent. You— ah!” Aziraphale broke off as Crowley resumed his activities. “Ah, yes, darling— like that, oh, like that…”

Crowley was rather unfairly good at this. Aziraphale was quite certain that some of the things he was doing with his tongue weren’t entirely human, but they made his head spin nevertheless. Crowley swirled his tongue around the tip of Aziraphale’s cock, moaning when it pulsed in his mouth. One of Aziraphale’s hands dug into the arm of the couch, while the other found its way into Crowley’s hair. Crowley’s hands stroked over his still-clothed thighs, almost making Aziraphale wish they had taken the time to fully undress. He wanted to see all of Crowley, wanted to be able to touch his bare skin, and wanted Crowley to do the same. But there would be time enough for that. Right now, the slick heat of Crowley’s mouth and the flat of his tongue pressing on the underside of Aziraphale’s shaft more than made up for it.

Within minutes, Aziraphale found he was already embarrassingly close. It was all too much— Crowley at his feet, his eager mouth on Aziraphale’s cock, golden eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face. He watched one of Crowley’s hands disappear into his absurdly tight jeans. He was touching himself, getting off on bringing Aziraphale pleasure, a thought which made Aziraphale’s eyes roll back in his head, bringing him even closer to the edge. His hips rocked upwards into Crowley’s mouth, and before he had the chance to apologize Crowley was humming his approval, eyes sliding shut in blissful arousal.

It was good— too good, impossibly good. Aziraphale hadn’t known that anything could feel this good. And it was Crowley— lovely, beautiful Crowley, the being he loved more than anything in the world— that was doing this to him, that was bringing him to this peak.

“Darling, darling— I’m close—” Aziraphale warned. He tightened the hand in Crowley’s hair, trying to give him the opportunity to pull off. And yet, the slight pull on his hair only seemed to make Crowley more enthusiastic. He moaned around Aziraphale’s cock, taking him impossibly deeper. Aziraphale keened as he felt his cock hit the back of Crowley’s throat, and just like that he was there— shuddering and shaking apart under Crowley’s wicked mouth.

“Get up here, you wondrous creature,” Aziraphale gasped, still riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm. As Crowley pulled off him Aziraphale wasted no time tugging him eagerly back into his lap. They kissed, and Aziraphale could taste himself in Crowley’s mouth. “My lovely, gorgeous demon.”

“Yours, yes, yours,” Crowley sighed into his mouth. He was still hard, erection digging into Aziraphale’s hip once again. Aziraphale fumbled with his zipper, the need to get his hands on Crowley becoming more urgent with every second. Crowley broke the kiss momentarily, shockingly short of breath for a being who didn’t need to breathe. “Here, angel, let me.”

Crowley unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers within seconds, biting back a moan as Aziraphale took him in hand.

“Tell me what you like, dear.” Aziraphale moved his hand slowly, stroking Crowley purposefully. He ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, gathering precome to slick his way as he pressed his lips to the delicate skin of Crowley’s neck.

“Ah— ‘ziraphale… your teeth, fuck, use your teeth— bite me, angel...” Crowley stuttered as Aziraphale sped up his movements. “Hn— not— not gonna last…”

“Good.” Aziraphale paused a moment to appreciate Crowley’s blissed out expression, before sinking his teeth into Crowley’s neck. The demon made an indecent sound as  
Aziraphale began to bite, suck, and lick, leaving bruises in his wake.

“Angel— oh, angel, I’m gonna—”

“Let go for me, love. Come for me, Crowley, dearest…”

“Ah, ah— angel!” Crowley let out an obscene moan, head falling forward onto Aziraphale’s shoulder as his hips jerked upwards and he spilled over Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale held him close, the room silent save for their unnecessary breathing. After a few moments, he waved away the mess so he could properly gather Crowley in his arms. He relocated them to his bed and divested them of their clothes as well, for good measure. They remained entwined for several minutes, or possibly several hours, before Aziraphale broke the silence.

“I love you,” he murmured into Crowley’s neck. He began to press gentle kisses to the marks he had left, admiring how beautiful they looked against his pale skin. “Oh, my Crowley. I love you so much.”

“Mmm, love you too, angel,” Crowley mumbled, eyes closed and face half-smushed into the pillow. “Like it when you call me that…”

“Hm? Crowley? It’s your name, dear,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“No, I—” Crowley blinked his eyes open, and Aziraphale could hardly believe what he was seeing. Crowley was _blushing_. “I like it when— when you call me yours.”

“Oh, Crowley—” Aziraphale was overcome. He took Crowley’s face in his hands, peppering kisses across his face. “That’s so sweet, darling...”

“Yeah, yeah, tell the whole blessed world, why don’t you?” Crowley rolled his eyes, but he was still blushing, and Aziraphale could see a hint of a smile on his face as he leaned into the angel’s touch. “Gonna ruin my reputation, you are.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that, dear. You did just, ah, defile an angel, as it were. Wouldn’t that be considered a rather impressive demonic feat?” Aziraphale leaned forward and bumped their foreheads together.

“Hmm… maybe. If the demon was smart, and didn’t fall head-over-arse in love with said angel.”

“Oh. Well then, I apologize. It seems you’re quite out of luck.”

“Dunno, angel. Feelin’ pretty lucky right about now…” Crowley leaned in, kissing him softly. It was chaste and gentle, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled in his chest. He had never felt so loved, so cared for. Crowley was so good to him, had always been so good to him, and it was all Aziraphale could do just to be grateful that he could now reciprocate.

The kiss did not remain chaste and gentle for long. As it grew more heated, more desperate, Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s arse, and he let out an appreciative moan. He squeezed, making Aziraphale gasp. Aziraphale deepened the kiss further, allowing their lips and tongues to move together slowly, moaning softly when Crowley sucked on his bottom lip. He let his hands wander, tracing the planes of Crowley’s chest, the long lines of his torso, eventually settling on the angles of his hips. He marveled at the way they fit so naturally in his hands, almost as though this was always meant to happen, as though they were always meant to be together like this. Aziraphale slotted one of his thighs in between Crowley’s legs, finding him already half-hard.

“Already up for round two, are we, darling?” Aziraphale asked, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips, making it clear to Crowley that he had also decided to do away with his refractory period.

“Could do,” Crowley said, his attempts at nonchalance somewhat contradicted by the way he was arching into Aziraphale’s touches, fingers digging into Aziraphale’s soft flesh hard enough to bruise. “What d’you think, angel?”

“I think…” Aziraphale grinned, taking a moment to appreciate the scene before him. Crowley in his bed, gloriously naked, hair disheveled, dark bruises scattered across his neck. His pupils were dilated, his lips parted— utterly undone and so, so very beautiful. One of Aziraphale’s hands skated up Crowley’s back, curling around the back of his neck. He pulled Crowley in for a brief kiss before pushing him onto his back, relishing the way it made the demon’s breath hitch. He looked up at Aziraphale, wide eyes eager, hungry. “I think it’s my turn to get my mouth on you, love.”

* * *

Several days later, Aziraphale awoke to sunlight streaming through the window and a sleeping Crowley cuddled close to him. His arms were wrapped around Aziraphale’s torso, his head pillowed on his chest. His red hair— now shoulder length, after an off-hand comment Aziraphale had made about missing his longer hair— turned a fiery orange-gold in the light, and Aziraphale could see faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. He nuzzled his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, sighing contentedly, and Aziraphale’s heart felt too big for his chest. Oh, how he loved him. He could scarcely believe that this was real, that they had made it through everything— up to and including the end of the world— and were finally free to be together. For so long, it had seemed that there was simply no path that could lead them here— no option, no world in which they got to have this. No chance at a happy ending. And yet, against all odds, here they were.

Aziraphale stretched as best he could without jostling Crowley, relishing the way his muscles ached, the soreness a lovely reminder of how he and Crowley had been passing the time. He glanced at the bruises dotting his hips and thighs, chuckling softly. He was certain he had more, scattered around his neck, collarbones, and shoulders— likely similar to the ones Crowley was sporting. He wasn’t quite sure how many days it had been since they had fallen into bed together, only that they hadn’t left since— with the exception of one eventful excursion to the shower. Through it all, Crowley had been attentive to his every desire. Even when he couldn’t quite find the words, Crowley still seemed to know what he needed.

It occurred to Aziraphale that, truly, this was the way it had always been. Six thousand years of having to stay silent, and through it all Crowley loved him, cared for him, did all that he could for Aziraphale without any expectation that it would ever be reciprocated.

“You really love me, don’t you, my dear?” Aziraphale murmured, stroking the side of Crowley’s face, fingers grazing the sharp angle of his jawline.

“Mmm, love you,” Crowley mumbled, eyes still closed. Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the top of his head, before gently extracting himself from Crowley’s embrace. Crowley whined at the loss of warmth, hands fumbling at the blankets and attempting to cocoon himself in them. “Where’re you going, ‘ziraphale?”

“Shhh, darling, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get a cup of tea. Go back to sleep.”

Crowley apparently didn’t need telling twice, as he slipped back into unconsciousness before Aziraphale had even finished speaking. Aziraphale smiled at his relaxed form sprawling across the bed as he pulled on a cream coloured silk dressing gown. He didn’t see much point in getting fully dressed, considering that once Crowley properly woke up it likely wouldn’t be long before he was naked again.

He entered the kitchen and put the kettle on, and as he waited for the water to boil his thoughts drifted back to Crowley, and the way he cared for him. Now that they were together— free, and together— he wanted so desperately to reciprocate. Crowley deserved to be taken care of, to be loved, appreciated, doted on. Crowley would never admit that he wanted it, and Aziraphale doubted he’d ask for it (with time, Aziraphale hoped that would change, but for now it held true), but he knew the desire was there. It was plain, in the way Crowley curled up next to him in sleep, how he blushed whenever Aziraphale called him “darling,” “dearest,” “mine,” the desperation with which he responded to every kiss Aziraphale initiated. There was simply nothing for it. He would have to start coming up with things to do for Crowley, ways that he could show him how loved he was. But where to start?

Over the years, Aziraphale had amassed quite the collection of love stories. All the classics, of course— Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet, The Princess Bride— most of them first editions. He also had— stowed away in back corners and high shelves— several slightly more… tawdry novels. Great works of literature they were perhaps not, but Aziraphale found himself turning to them often when he was at his most lonely, his most hopeless. Through them, he could escape into worlds where lovers were never separated by circumstances so great that they couldn’t be resolved by the book’s conclusion. Where love was enough, love was all that mattered, and there was always a happy ending. And if he saw Crowley in every dashing suitor, every tall, dark, and handsome stranger… surely there was no harm in that, was there?

Anyway. That aside, one would think that those books would be the first thing to turn to for ideas. And yet, the more Aziraphale thought about it, the more he realized it didn’t matter how many romances he had read. He still didn’t know the first thing about being a part of one. Not really, anyway. All his knowledge was theoretical, and nonspecific. He could tell Crowley he loved him, over and over again— and he certainly would— but what could he do to show him? To prove to him that he was committed to Crowley, as Crowley was to him?

Immediately his thoughts flew to rings slipped onto fingers, vows spoken through joyful tears, hands clasped, kisses exchanged in the presence of God herself. Well. That was certainly something to think about. They’d have to have a conversation first, of course— after six thousand years they were already more married than most human couples, whether they could admit it or not— and they certainly didn’t need to bother with all of the official paperwork and whatnot, not if they didn’t want to… but perhaps a marriage proposal wasn’t the best place to start anyway. No, it would be best to work up to that. He wouldn’t want to go too fast.

_“Perhaps one day we could… I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”_

_“I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”_

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, hands fluttering, heart aching at the memory. In the moment, he had felt so brave, being able to even allude to the possibility that they could have a future together felt like a leap he hadn’t known he was strong enough to take. Now, though, all he could remember was how much it hurt, and how much he had hurt Crowley.

Still, it wasn’t a bad place to start. They had already done the Ritz, but what about a picnic? Yes, a picnic— a proper, romantic date. Crowley would have to return to his flat eventually, if only to water the plants, and that’s when he could prepare everything. He’d buy food, wine, all the necessities— and he’d do it the human way. He knew it would be simpler to miracle it all, and neither of them would be able to tell the difference, but that wasn’t in the spirit of things. He’d miracle himself to a nice clearing or field, though; somewhere in the countryside, where he could set it all up. And then— well, Crowley would have to drive them, he supposed, but he could direct him without telling him where they were going, or why. Oh, it would be so lovely to surprise him like that— and what were the odds he’d see it coming? Aziraphale had never done anything like this— hadn’t been able to do anything like this—for him before.

The shrill whistle of the kettle brought him abruptly out of his thoughts, and he was reminded of why he had actually gotten out of bed in the first place. He took his angel wing mug out of the cupboard (a gift from Crowley, naturally, and one that was definitely supposed to be a joke; unsurprisingly, it had instantly become Aziraphale’s favorite mug), and placed a bag of Earl Grey into it. He took the kettle off the heat, filling his mug with the boiling water.

“Oh, now that is just unfair.”

Aziraphale turned to see Crowley, shockingly fully dressed, leaning against the doorway. The cut of his black v-neck was devastatingly tight, and his jeans were, of course, more of the same. He hadn’t put his glasses back on, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his face, completely unobscured. He delighted in the fact that he could look now, really look— properly appreciate how gorgeous Crowley was. And— he set the mug down on the counter, stepping towards Crowley— he could touch, too.

“Good morning, my love,” he said, looping his arms around Crowley’s neck and kissing him on the cheek. “What’s unfair?”

“You.” It was only then that Aziraphale noticed how wrecked Crowley looked, the way he was openly gawking at Aziraphale. “Look at you, angel.”

Aziraphale glanced down, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The off-white silk of his dressing gown brushed his bare thigh, and he automatically pulled it tighter around himself. He looked back up at Crowley, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

“I— I mean, look at me!” Crowley exclaimed, flustered. “I come in here with all my clothes on, wanting to finally take you on a proper date now we’ve both made it out of bed— and you— basically wearing lingerie! You—”

He ran his hands down Aziraphale’s sides, settling at his hips, before pulling him in for a searing kiss.

When they separated, several minutes later, Crowley looked even less composed.

“Looking like that, angel,” he said in a low voice, “all I want to do is take you right back to bed.”

“Yes. Yes, let’s do that,” Aziraphale said, the kiss and Crowley’s words having left him feeling somewhat… affected, as well.

“Angel,” Crowley whined. “I had a plan for today…”

“Surely it can wait a couple hours.” Aziraphale smiled coyly as he pulled on the belt of his robe, untying it and allowing it to fall open.

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening to an almost comic degree.

“Bloody insatiable, you are,” he grumbled, but he was smiling, already pulling Aziraphale back into his arms, and moving them both closer to the bedroom. “God, I love you.”

The mug of tea sat forgotten, entirely unaware that it would be cold and bitter before anyone returned to find it.

* * *

“I don’t suppose you’re planning on telling me where we’re going, love?” Aziraphale asked, not for the first time. 

It was several hours later, and at Crowley’s insistence, the two of them had finally gotten dressed and left the bookshop. Despite much prodding from Aziraphale, Crowley refused to tell him where they were going. 

Crowley grinned at him, eyes flashing behind dark lenses. “Now, where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve already told you everything you need to know: I’ve never taken you on a proper date, and I thought it was high time I fixed that.”

Unsurprisingly, the reckless nature of Crowley’s driving hadn’t changed. What had changed, however, was his left hand, casually resting on Aziraphale’s thigh. The gesture should have perhaps concerned Aziraphale, since it meant that Crowley only had one hand to steer with, and therefore came all the closer to hitting pedestrians and other cars with every swerve. And yet— the possessive nature of it made Aziraphale’s heart flutter, and he found his mind entirely occupied with thoughts that had absolutely nothing to do with driving. 

“Very well then, my dear. I don’t suppose you’ll at least tell me _when_ we’ll be arriving?”

“Not a chance, angel,” Crowley said, laughing. 

Aziraphale tried his best to contain his anticipation, but found he was entirely unable to keep the smile off his face. Honestly, he didn’t particularly care where Crowley was taking him. The simple fact that he was taking him on a date— a real date, a romantic date— it was more than he could’ve ever hoped for. They had been going on outings for thousands of years— dinners, plays, even just simple walks in the park were excuses to spend time together. But today? Today they were going out into the world, _together_ , as a couple. No pretense, no excuses. They would get to sit close to each other, and hold hands, and kiss— and whenever Aziraphale looked at Crowley and was reminded of how much he loved him, he could simply tell him as much. He was free— they were free— to be in love, out in the open. 

As excited as he was, he couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of disappointment. He had been hoping he’d be the first one to suggest a date— to surprise Crowley with the very idea, the notion that they were allowed to go on dates now. But it was alright. Crowley was one step ahead, for now— and surely that meant that he’d be even less likely to see Aziraphale’s picnic coming. 

When they had driven rather far out into the countryside, Crowley finally stopped at a seemingly arbitrary spot, parking the Bentley on the side of the road. Aziraphale looked at him questioningly as they exited the car, but Crowley simply smiled mysteriously, took Aziraphale’s hand, and led him towards the edge of a small forest. A narrow dirt path led deeper into the trees, and Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to follow it. After only a few minutes of walking, the path opened up into a clearing— a beautifully lush green meadow surrounded by tall aspen trees. Spread out in the center was a white blanket, criss-crossed with lines of deep red. On top of it sat a large wicker picnic basket and a metal bucket filled to the brim with ice and several bottles of wine. 

He couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped. Well. Apparently Crowley was more than just one step ahead. It was exactly how he’d pictured it: beautiful, romantic, intimate. Simultaneously out in the open the way they had never been able to be, and secluded enough that they needn’t worry about being disturbed. And Crowley had beaten him to it. Still, he was incredibly touched. As if he needed more proof of how kind, how loving, how attentive Crowley was. 

“Oh, Crowley. You remembered.” 

“S’nothing, angel, really. Just thought— well, we did the Ritz, didn’t we?” 

“It’s certainly not nothing, love.” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, taking one of his hands in both of his own. “It’s _beautiful_. And— and you did it all for me, and... oh, Crowley— _thank you_.”

There was a moment where Crowley looked like he was going to respond to what Aziraphale had said, but he seemed to decide against it. He shook his head slightly, then nodded towards the picnic blanket. “Shall we sit?” 

Aziraphale allowed Crowley to lead him over to the blanket, taking care not to displace anything Crowley had laid out as he sat down. Crowley knelt next to him, lifting the basket carefully and setting it in front of Aziraphale. He opened it, beginning to lift rather improbably-sized dishes from its depths. As he produced platter after platter, Aziraphale smiled gratefully, thinking of the many miracles Crowley must have employed to make the gesture possible. 

“Surely we can't eat all this,” Aziraphale chuckled, as Crowley pulled what appeared to be the final plate— a large silver one, laden with all manner of fresh fruits— out of the basket. 

“Maybe,” Crowley said lightly, plucking a single grape from the plate and tossing it into his mouth. The slightly solemn air that had seemingly taken over him after Aziraphale thanked him had dissipated entirely; Crowley was grinning like a fool as he set the plate on the blanket and flopped down beside Aziraphale. “Maybe not. Guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

They made their way through the food and wine slowly; hours passing in perfect contentment. Although Crowley wasn’t usually one for eating, Aziraphale managed to persuade him to try a few things— a bite of a sandwich here, a small slice of cake there. He knew Crowley was indulging him, but he also knew that Crowley enjoyed indulging him. It had become clear to Aziraphale that seeing to his needs— making sure he had anything and everything he wanted— was Crowley’s comfort zone. While Aziraphale was determined to break him out of said comfort zone quite soon, for now he resolved to simply enjoy the moment. The weather was perfect— not a cloud in the sky, and the occasional breeze providing relief from the mild summer heat. He had the love of his life by his side, and Crowley was laughing, smiling, talking animatedly about whatever topic crossed his mind. The food and wine were both delicious, and as the wine went a lot faster than the food, soon enough the two of them found themselves quite pleasantly tipsy.

“Y’know, I kinda like it out here,” Crowley said, gesturing vaguely to the fields and forest around them. At some point his head had found its way into Aziraphale’s lap, and Aziraphale was absently running his fingers through his hair as he gazed adoringly at Crowley. “S’ nice. Peaceful. Think I could live here, actually.”

[ ](https://postimg.cc/qNNkNdfx)

“Really?” Aziraphale’s hand in Crowley’s hair stilled, for just a moment. “Wouldn’t you miss London?”

_Wouldn’t you miss me?_ he does not say, and yet cannot help but think. 

“Nah,” Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “S’ too loud. Too many people. M’basically retired now, don’t have to deal with all that.” He fell silent for a moment. “Wouldn’t wanna leave you, though.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, relieved. “Well, perhaps—”

“Angel, I’m not moving out here.” Crowley’s eyes flicked up to meet Aziraphale’s. “Don’t worry.” 

Crowley sat up, glancing around. The empty dishes had been returned to the picnic basket, while most of the leftovers had been miracled into the fridge in Aziraphale's flat, with the exception of the plate full of fresh fruits. Crowley's eyes landed on it, and he picked an apple off the plate. He leaned towards Aziraphale, propping himself up on an elbow and offering him the apple. 

“Really, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. “A little on the nose, is it not?”

“C’mon, angel.” Crowley tilted his head, all long lines and a sharp-edged smile, looking every bit the original tempter. “Jusssssst a bite?”

He drew out the “s” deliberately, his gaze intense and mischievous. Not for the first time, Aziraphale remembered what it was to _want_ , to want desperately. To want to give in to temptation, to take, possess, indulge. This was the part of his love that Heaven would have despised, ridiculed— perhaps even punished. But Crowley encouraged it. Crowley loved it, just as he loved everything about Aziraphale that Heaven abhorred. The mere existence of this picnic was evidence of that: utterly indulgent both in sheer quantity and in selection. It had not gone unnoticed by Aziraphale that every single dish had been one of his favorite foods from over their many millennia together. A platter of oysters, neatly folded crepes dusted with powdered sugar, chocolates nearly identical to those Crowley had brought him the day of his bookshop’s opening, even a meat stew Aziraphale had recognized from ancient Mesopotamia. Crowley had noticed, Crowley had cared enough to notice— and wasn't that something? 

Of course, the desire that he felt at present had nothing to do with the apple being offered to him, and everything to do with the demon offering it. It was truly ridiculous, he knew— the Serpent of Eden trying to tempt him with an apple, looking equal parts enticing and entirely absurd. And yet. And yet he _wanted_. 

He leaned forward, allowing Crowley to bring the apple to his lips. His fingers encircled Crowley's wrist delicately as he bit into it, savoring the crisp, sweet flavor and the awestruck look on Crowley’s face in equal measure. “Temptation accomplished, darling.”

The noise Crowley made was akin to if one had taken a normal, comprehensible sentence and thrown it into a blender. Despite the heat of the moment, the tension that their little game had been building, Aziraphale couldn't help but burst out laughing. 

"Shut up!" Crowley said, face as red as the apple. He was really quite adorable in this state, Aziraphale observed, and he found he had no choice but to lean down and kiss him. 

As was often the case with the two of them, one kiss became two, became three, became several more, and before long they were both sprawled on the blanket, Crowley dropping the apple in favor of clutching Aziraphale's hip as they pressed into each other, gasping, moaning. 

"Crowley, love, we're in public," Aziraphale said when Crowley left his mouth in favor of pressing kisses along his jawline.

"No one'll see us out here, angel." Crowley rocked his hips into Aziraphale's slowly, filthily, one hand sauntering vaguely downwards to unbutton Aziraphale's trousers. "I promise." 

It took Aziraphale about half a second to decide that, yes, that was good enough for him, and he returned to kissing Crowley with renewed passion. 

It was very nearly dark outside when they finally packed up and returned to the car. Crowley drove as fast as ever, but Aziraphale hardly noticed. He was staring out the window, caught up in thoughts of the day they had just spent together, thinking back over each moment, trying to capture and memorize each and every detail. He knew this was just the beginning for them, that they would have many more dates, and perhaps even more picnics, but this would always be the first, and thus would always hold a special place in his heart.

Besides... one particular thing Crowley had said had stuck with him, and a plan was formulating in his mind. It wouldn't be easy, and it was certainly a much larger step than he'd initially thought he'd be taking, but he believed he had finally found his romantic gesture. Or at least, the first of many. The Aziraphale from a few days ago would likely have dismissed the idea as drastic, ridiculous, impossible. Now, however, he could think of no better way to make Crowley see, make him understand that Aziraphale was committed, that he wanted to care for Crowley, indulge _him_ , the way Crowley had always done for him. If he could pull this off, it would be the perfect way to prove that to him. He glanced at Crowley in the driver's seat. So good to him, always so good to him. It was a wonder that anyone held that much love in their heart, and Aziraphale couldn't help but feel impossibly lucky that it was reserved for him. And now he finally had a way to reciprocate, a way to be good to Crowley in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Sweet Creature" by Harry Styles
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Chapter two will be up sometime soon :D
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> i'm on tumblr at [panicvertig-o](https://panicvertig-o.tumblr.com/), and if you want to you can check out my other good omens fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletopaz)!


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